In the heart of Lygon Street, a restaurant was known among locals as the place to go if one wanted a discreet dinner. Behind a plain brick exterior lived a true Italian heart, a dark and tiny space with a dozen tables only far enough apart for the waiters to navigate with plates of extraordinary food. People booked weeks ahead.
Most people.
Dennis and Meredith shared a table in the quietest corner. Lit by a candle, their chairs were close, their hands closer. There was an unspoken rule of privacy here.
Some poor patron had their reservation cancelled the moment Dennis called. He had a certain pull in some areas, and this was one of his favourites. Meredith was hardly the first person he’d brought here but he hoped she’d be the one to return with for future anniversaries and celebrations
